


Philia

by BlueColoredDreams



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Aromantic Character, Bittersweet, Miscommunication, Other, Unrequited Love
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-02-13
Updated: 2015-02-13
Packaged: 2018-03-12 06:42:28
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,002
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3347378
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BlueColoredDreams/pseuds/BlueColoredDreams
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The way they love is different.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Philia

**Author's Note:**

> This... was originally my fill for the v-day prompt for tsukkiyamafest. I felt very uncomfortable putting it with the rest of my fills because none of them are particularly serious or deal with anything semi-serious, and I wanted people to know what they were getting into??? Also, I listened to [this](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=0DTb9MH3-Wo) while writing and broke my own heart.

He hates Valentine’s Day: he’s never thought this quite so explicitly, but this year has settled it. He hates Valentine’s Day and more than anything, he hates himself. He pulls his knees up to his chest and presses his head down against them and hiccups with the strain of keeping quiet. He doesn’t think anyone would think to come find him behind the piles of old mats in the secondary storage room of the gym, but he doesn’t want to press his luck—he’s already done that too many times recently, and the little bit of luck he had has already broken under the strain of it.

The last thing he wants is anyone to find him. He doesn’t think he can handle it, not after he’d been so brave and sure earlier that week. He doesn’t want anyone to know how utterly pathetic he is, crying behind a dusty and musty pile of old mats like this. The small box crunches in his bag where he’s got it clutched to his chest like he has a wound and it’s the only thing keeping him from bleeding out.

He thinks he needs to reevaluate his life and his choices; maybe if he does that, he can figure out where he went wrong, other than the sheer fact that he exists.

In sixteen years of living, he’s never once had a Valentine’s Day that was anything other than just a normal day; he’s never once been confessed to his entire life. Girls don’t look twice at him—they only ever approach him to ask about his best friend. And for a while, he didn’t mind that… actually he still doesn’t mind that he’s never been approached by a girl himself. But since their second year in junior high, the girls leave a bad, bitter taste in the back of his mouth.

The last two Valentine’s Days since he realized he was in love with his best friend have been hell. He’s had to hand deliver chocolates like he’s a courier to Tsukki, he’s had to watch and coordinate confessions because he’s too nice to say no and sympathizes too deeply with them to say no, he’s had to watch Tsukki open his locker to find chocolates stuffed into the space around his indoor shoes. He doesn’t take any pleasure in how Tsukki never even answers half of the girls—he only declines, rudely at that, the first unfortunate girl to talk to him in person, and tells them with that shit-eating grin of his to ‘spread the word, won’t you?’—or how Tsukki hands him the chocolates he gets wordlessly, expecting him to eat it, or how if he doesn’t take it, it gets thrown away.

If he was a petty person, maybe he’d enjoy it. Maybe he’d find camaraderie in the fact that like all those other girls, his feelings would never be accepted. Maybe he’d enjoy the chocolate Tsukki hands to him because he knows that Tadashi likes them. Maybe, if he was a petty person, he could pretend like the fact that Tsukki declines all those girls, but accepts his invitations meant something more than it did.

But Tadashi isn’t a petty person. He thinks he’s actually pretty smart sometimes—he’s nothing compared to Tsukki, but he’s not dumb. He knows better than to think that Tsukki is rejecting their feelings.

That is too kind for Tsukki, too kind for what he does. He throws their feelings away. He ignores them. It doesn’t matter to him, because it’s something he doesn’t understand, a fruitless effort, something to be laughed about in private and called pathetic. Tadashi hates it. He hates it just as much as he hated Tsukki not trying at all on the volleyball court. He hates thinking about how Tsukki brushes all those girls’ feelings aside like they were flies. He hates to think about how, if he ever tried to confess himself, the same thing would be done to him.

To Tsukki, the people who like him are stupid, inconsequential. Worthless. Trash. He dislikes Valentine’s Day not because it’s a reminder of what he doesn’t and won’t have, but because it reminds him that the love that’s so important to him is worthless to Tsukki.

But this year… he’d resolved to make it different. He’d gotten cocky, he realizes now, because he’d managed to achieve some things he’d decided to do. He’d been able to serve in multiple games, and is now considered part of the regular rotation even though Ukai’s made it clear they’re going to use him as a ‘secret weapon’ for as long as they can. He’s done just as well in his classes as Tsukki has, and he’s made friends this year. Real friends, not the ones that try to lure him away from Tsukki so they can take advantage of him. Tsukki had called him cool. They’re closer than they ever have been, more on equal footing than they’ve ever been. He thought that maybe, there could be some sort of chance that his feelings won’t be brushed aside like everyone else’s are.

He doesn’t necessarily want his friend to return his feelings; he doesn’t think that will happen, ever, because Tsukki doesn’t think like that, doesn’t think in shades of affection and longing. He just wants Tsukki to know, to get it off his chest and out into the air. It’s selfish, but he just wants it to be acknowledged as a part of him.

He’d gotten cocky, overconfident. He thought he was worth more than he was. He should have kept his mouth shut, he thinks, as he curls up tighter against himself. He feels some of the chocolates break against his chest as he hunches over them, but it’s not like it matters; they’re only going to go in the trash later, just like they would have if he’d given them to Tsukki. His hand aches from where it’d connected with his friend’s face earlier, and his throat hurts from choking back his sobs. He curls up tighter and tries not to make a sound.

* * *

 Valentine’s Day was bothersome. If he could skip it, he would. He didn’t understand people’s fascination with it, or even why girls would flock to him to confess. He didn’t want their chocolates, and he definitely didn’t want their affection. He didn’t get it, not one bit, how someone could be ‘in love’ with a person they’ve never talked to before. All those girls were delusional and wastes of time.

Dating was superfluous anyway; the amount of effort that had to be spent on something that was so tumultuous was ridiculous. If he had to expend effort on something, he’d rather focus it on the places he usually does these days; school, volleyball, and his relationships with his teammates.

Valentine’s Day always puts him in a sour mood because he has to do something with all the chocolates he gets—since elementary school, he’s given some of them to Yamaguchi, because his friend likes chocolate just as much as he likes the soggy french-fries at the bottoms of the carton, and he gives Yamaguchi those out of habit. It used to be that Yamaguchi would laugh and ask a tentative “are you really sure?” before taking them. He never ate them at school, but Kei knew he ate them.

Some of them get thrown away. Actually, a lot of them do; Kei doesn’t want to eat them, because he doesn’t want to seem like he’s accepting any parts of these girls ‘feelings’ for him. If they’d given them to him in person, he’d decline them like he declines the letters that Yamaguchi’s started couriering to him with an ever increasingly sour-look on his face and the girls who corner him at his locker and ask him to the back of the school. He thinks if he’s needlessly cruel to them, they’ll give up.

They never do. It’s pathetic. He doesn’t get it, why the girls keep flocking to him. It disgusts him, how fixated they are on his physical appearance, of how they think they’re going to be the girl that ‘changes’ him and his attitude, that somehow they’ll turn him into some sappy fool that takes chocolate and takes them out on dates and falls in love if he just gives them a ‘chance’. He’s not.

He has no interests in anything like that. No intentions of dating, no desire to be confessed to. He doesn’t particularly plan on liking anyone. It’s stupid and it wastes his time.

They walk to school like usual, Yamaguchi meeting up with him at the intersection between their houses and trotting along beside him to morning practice. Yamaguchi is usually silent for the first half of their morning walk, sleepy and sluggish until he manages to wake himself up, so he doesn’t notice anything unusual. It’s not until they get to the clubroom and are in the midst of changing does he notice how fidgety Yamaguchi is becoming. He keeps rearranging his uniform over his bag, like there’s something in it that he doesn’t want anyone to see. It’s strange, but he doesn’t comment.

If Yamaguchi wants to tell him, he will. He leans forward and starts pulling on his kneepads.

“Heyyy!! Shittyshima!” Hinata screeches, bursting into the clubroom with his normal red-faced, out of breath loudness, “There’s a girl outside the gym who’s waiting on you!”

Kei rolls his eyes and barely restrains the groan that’s threatening to pour out of his lips. “I’m not here,” he replies.

“Ehhhh? You’re gonna ignore her?” Tanaka cries. “That’s so cruel!”

“I don’t feel like listening to some bullshit confession,” Kei retorts, pulling his sweater over his practice jersey.

There’s a brief scuffle involving Tanaka and Nishinoya decrying Kei’s ability to feel as a human being and a man—he couldn’t care less, really. Eventually, Sugawara intervenes and sends them out to ‘escort the nice girl out of the gym, you two are really the only people for the job’, and ushers the rest of the team out of the room. “I’ll send you a text when it’s safe for you to come down, Tsukishima,” he says with his trade-mark sweet smile.

Kei rolls his eyes and slumps down on the bench. Beside him, Yamaguchi shifts on his feet uneasily; Kei’s not really certain why he didn’t leave with the rest of the team. He’s probably afraid he’ll be mobbed by Kei’s fans as well. He snorts.

“Um, Tsukki,” Yamaguchi murmurs. “Are… you perhaps going to ignore all of them again this year?”

Kei looks up at Yamaguchi. His face is red and his hands are fidgeting at his sides. He’s not seen him look so anxious since Inter High. It’s weird. “Yeah? So?”

A strange look passes over Yamaguchi’s face; Kei can’t really read it, but the nervous lip-biting and flushing is replaced with a stern, thin-lipped look. Yamaguchi’s looking at him like he was a ball to serve in a game, Kei realizes. He’s not sure why he’s in trouble this time.

“Tsukki, I think you shouldn’t do that,” Yamaguchi says suddenly, voice firm even though his hands are shaking at his sides.

“What?”

“I think you should listen to them,” Yamaguchi clarifies.

“Why? I don’t have any intentions of going out with them, so why bother?”

“Because they put a lot of work into it!” the boy shouts, fists clenching at his sides. “They put a lot of time and effort into confessing, you know? All those girls! It’s really thoughtless of you to brush them off like they’re nothing.”

“I never asked them to do that though,” Kei says offhandedly, “I never asked for their pathetic little crushes on me and their stupid homemade chocolates and half-hearted ideas of what love is. There’s no reason why I should listen to a single confession. What? Are you angry that no one is going to confess to you?” he laughs, waving his hand dismissively. “How stupid, Yamaguchi. I never would have thought you would be interested in something like that.”

He watches as Yamaguchi’s shoulders drop and the boy turns his head to the side, jaw working. He knows that look; it’s the look Yamaguchi gets when he’s trying desperately not to cry. Kei’s surprised—he didn’t think that would hurt the other boy’s feelings, since Yamaguchi has never once complained about the disparity between them in their relative popularity with girls. In fact, he thought that Yamaguchi was rather like himself: largely unconcerned with their affections. “Hey, look, Yamaguchi, I’m sure… I’m sure there’s someone out there who… likes you, they’re probably shy,” he says awkwardly, “Since you’re that sort of person yourself.”

He’s rather proud of himself for putting that out there. For making an effort to comfort his friend when he’s obviously upset. It’s stupid, but he’s a bit pleased he managed to get it out, even though it’s not an outright apology for overstepping his boundaries; he’s been trying lately to put forth some effort into their friendship so it’s not just Yamaguchi giving and giving and giving and getting nothing out of it.

He doesn’t much like the idea, though, of some girl out there creeping on his friend. He dislikes the idea the way he dislikes the idea of someone liking him, because not a single person outside of the volleyball team has even bothered to try to know either of them. It’s the same uncomfortable feeling he gets when they interact with the other first years—he’s never once seen Yamaguchi be so friendly and lively with anyone that wasn’t him. It bothers him, the idea of sharing the time he spends with Yamaguchi with anyone else.

Yamaguchi gives a long, shuddering sigh and he leans forward to pick up his kneepads from the floor. “That’s not the point, Tsukki,” he says tiredly. “The point is… it’s that the least you can give those people who confess to you a little bit of consideration. …I’ll see you in practice.”

Kei scowls as Yamaguchi slinks out of the clubroom, a bit frustrated. Yamaguchi is upset, and he’s not sure why. The boy always bounces back when Kei says something a little too mean, and even more so lately when Kei makes an effort to smooth it over rather than letting it hang heavy in the air. He doesn’t get why his friend is so stubbornly dead-set on Kei listening to these girls.

Doesn’t Yamaguchi feel the same sort of discomfort at the idea of limiting the time they spend together? Yamaguchi was always there, always asking to be there, but… he doesn’t seem concerned in the slightest that their monopolies on each other are slowly disintegrating. Kei feels very suddenly alone; he feels like he’s back at the training camp, watching his friend’s receding figure in the summer heat, unable to catch up.

He stews over it all day, getting increasingly and increasingly angered over it, despite telling himself it’s stupid to do so. But Yamaguchi is very obviously angry with him. He doesn’t take a single bit of the chocolates that Kei doesn’t want and doesn’t try to help him wiggle his way out of a single confession: he has to listen to at least three by lunch break—then another during, because Yamaguchi ditches him to go eat with the idiot duo, of all people.

By the time evening practice is over, he hasn’t been able to speak to Yamaguchi in private a single time and he’s pissed. He’s just angry enough that he does something really, really stupid when he’s cornered by a girl at the school gate when he’s leaving, just out of spite. The rest of the team looks at him rather oddly—he doesn’t realize until much later that they looked towards Yamaguchi afterwards, as if they were asking him if what was happening was okay. At the moment, he’s just pissed and tired, and irritated by Yamaguchi’s pinched scowl and murmured, “I’ll just… go home first” once they sight her.

He goes home regretting what he did, the small box of chocolates heavy in his bag and cell phone, with its new contact, feeling sticky in his pocket.

* * *

Tadashi doesn’t unpack the box from his backpack. He can’t really bear to; the weight of his cowardice weighs just as heavy on him as it did after the match with Wakunan. Again, he’d chosen the safest thing to do, instead of the thing that would make him feel the best. Maybe if he hadn’t opened his mouth on impulse that morning, he could have worked up the courage to give the chocolates to Tsukki.

…he probably wouldn’t have. He didn’t want to be looked at the same way Tsukki looks at those girls: a pathetic waste of time.

He lets it sit in his bag. If he takes it out, he has to admit he chickened out—he’s going have to soon, when Yachi and the rest of the team ask him how it went. He lays awake thinking about it, thinking about how his friend had sneered at him about his own unpopularity only to backpedal. Instead of making him happy that at least Tsukki’s trying to consider his feelings, it makes his chest hurt. He starts imagining the backpedaling Tsukki would have to do to spare his feelings if he confessed.

He doesn’t fall asleep until it’s much too late. He wakes up running late for practice, but with not a single text from Tsukki. He sighs and sends the _‘oops, overslept! tell daichi??’_ text anyway, hands shaking. He doesn’t move until it’s too late to make it to practice at all, rooted into his spot kneeling on his bed for a good thirty minutes until he shakes himself out of his stomach-churning stupor and forces himself to get ready for school, run-down and queasy feeling. He tries not to think about what he’s going to say to Yachi, who’d been so sweet as to help him make chocolates after practice one evening, Hinata and Kageyama peering owlishly at the two of them from Yachi’s kitchen table, where they’d been banished after burning a pot of chocolate in their competition to see who could melt it fastest.

The box of chocolates rattles as he runs to school. He makes it to homeroom two minutes before the bell, sweaty and out of breath. He collapses into his seat, and that’s when he starts to hear it. There’s a distinct undercurrent of murmuring and eyes turned on him. He pats his uniform self-consciously to make sure there’s not anything on it and that it’s on right, but he doesn’t find anything amiss. He’s in the middle of smoothing his hair self-consciously when Tsukki strolls in the classroom, headphones on and scowl dark. He turns in his seat, hand half-raised in greeting, but Tsukki’s eyes skim over him and Yamaguchi gets the distinct impression that maybe, his friend is ignoring him.

He freezes in his desk as all of the murmuring and side-wards glances turn to Tsukki. There’s a wave of chattering sound as a group of people that Tadashi knows Tsukki has never once talked to—in fact, there’s a couple of girls in the group that Tadashi’s had to turn down for the blond himself mixed in there—approach his desk.

“Tsukishima-kun is it really true you accepted Tsubaki-chan’s confession?” one of them asks the second Tsukki pulls off his headphones. “Even after you turned all sorts of people down?”

“Ah. That,” Tsukki says flatly. Tadashi watches in blank horror as his friend’s face scrunches up in annoyance. “Not exactly. I just agreed to meet with her once.”

Tadashi clenches his fists against his pants, face feeling both hot and cold at the same time. The queasy feeling in his stomach returns and he’s suddenly very grateful that he didn’t have time to eat breakfast before school.

Tsukishima Kei, his best friend who has never once entertained the thought of dating, the ice prince who throws away girls’ confessions like they’re used tissues, the boy who can’t fathom the very idea of romance has agreed to meet with a girl after her confession. He feels like the world has started spinning in its orbit faster than it should. He’s not sure whether or not Tsukki only agreed because he’d gotten on his case about it or if it was because Tsukki might actually have taken an interest in this girl, but he’s sure of one thing—he’s missed his chance all together. Or maybe, he never had one. He won’t be able to find out now, because he doubts he can even get his voice out around the lump in his throat.

He lays his head down on his desk, closes his eyes, and misses the pointed way that the blond looks at him as their homeroom teacher walks in and calls the class to order. He keeps his head down through the first lesson and into the second, until the teacher finally tells him that he can either sit up and pay attention or go to the nurse’s office.

He sits up, but doesn’t look up from his desk. His notes are half-hearted and he knows he’ll regret it later, but he thinks he’ll just ask Tsukki for help later… until he realizes that, no… he probably won’t.

He runs his fingers through his hair, tugging briefly at the ends. He tries to stick it out the rest of the lesson, but there’s a weight pressing down on his shoulders. He thinks he must be drowning in his own mediocrity. He puts his head down again. He closes his eyes and just breathes until the teacher sends him to the nurses’ office.

He gathers his things and slinks out of the class, very much aware of every single eye on him. Tomorrow, they won’t remember, he tells himself quietly. They’ll forget by lunch time. It doesn’t matter. He wonders if they think he’s just sick, or if they know he’s silently throwing his own temper tantrum over the fact that Tsukishima Kei has a date with a girl.

He shows the nurse his pass, and he thinks he must look like a mess because the nurse doesn’t even ask him what’s wrong, she just gently directs him to a bed. He lies down and presses his hands over his face and tries to figure out just exactly why he’s acting so pathetic over this.

He knew, without a shadow of a doubt that even if he confessed, Tsukki wouldn’t accept.

Tsukki doesn’t like people like that; Tadashi knows this. Tsukki doesn’t wake up afraid that he’s going to be an adult and be alone, he doesn’t worry about what other people think of him, he doesn’t wish that there was someone he could call in the middle of the night to just talk to. His heart doesn’t skip around attractive people, and his stomach doesn’t flutter when anyone talks to him at all. He’s just not… attracted to people, doesn’t desire their love or affection.

Tadashi’s never seen it. He’s never intuited any single instance where the only thought could be was ‘Ah, so he likes them’, not the way he’s picked up on the fondness that Hinata, Yachi, and Kageyama bounce between themselves, ever evolving and growing into something Tadashi can’t even define with his own stunted love for his best friend. Not the way that it’s so hugely obvious that Noya and Tanaka worship the very ground Kiyoko walks on (and it’s not just because they basically shout it from the rooftops every single day).

He was prepared to be rejected.

He just… wasn’t prepared to have wasted his chance. Or for Tsukki to accept some girl’s invitations. He must be far pettier than he ever gave himself credit for, to be so upset that someone else got the chance he wanted.

He pushes the heel of his palms into his eyes until spots and bursts of color bloomed behind his eyelids, pressing down on the hotness that pricked in his eyes.

Tadashi knew that Tsukki usually did the things he asked of him—or at least, Tsukki usually considered the things asked of him. He’d just wanted Tsukki to take him seriously if he confessed. He thought that maybe… He stops the train of thought before it goes any further:

He’s awful. He’s horrible and just as bad as every other girl who claimed that, if Tsukki just considered them, it would change his mind about romance and dating. He’d been entertaining the thought that if it were him, someone Tsukki knew, then it would be different. That he could thaw out whatever it is in his friend that’s frozen against loving someone, just like he’d managed to help chip away at the glacier in Tsukki’s heart after Akiteru’s game in elementary school. He’d wondered if maybe those two things were tied together, somehow, and now that Tsukki’s made up with Akiteru, he could be receptive to other kinds of love.

But that’s wrong and he knows it. He lets his hands fall from his face and he stares up at the ceiling. He drifts off and sleeps in fits and bursts. He lies despondently through lunch, half wondering if Tsukki would come and check on him. He tries to quash down the bitter, acrid taste of jealousy that rises in his throat when he idly wonders if Tsukki’s too busy with this new girl to see him when the period passes with no visit at all.

The nurse asks him if he feels better. He shakes his head and rolls over onto his stomach. Where has all his pride gone? Where has the bubbly confidence that made him tell his friends firmly that he was definitely, no matter what, going to confess gone? He’s better than this, he tells himself. He’s better than moping because something didn’t go the way he wanted it to, because he lost his temper.

He was able to get back up after failing on the court so many times, so what makes this any different?

He just hadn’t thought it would hurt this much. But he should be used to the hurt by now; he’d powered through it when it was his serve. Maybe it’s because with his serve, he could force himself to keep at it until it worked the way he wanted it to—with this, he can’t force Tsukki to fall in love with him. Even if he thought he could, he wouldn’t. He loves his friend so much that it breaks his heart to think about forcing Tsukki to humor him, make him fall in love too. He knows that if he did, he’d always be resentful of the fact that Tsukki never liked him to begin with.

He chases his thoughts around his head for the rest of the day until the bell rings to end the day. He rolls onto his back and stares up at the ceiling and considers practice. He wants to go. He likes playing and he likes all of the members of the team. Practice never fails to cheer him up when he’s down about bad grades or an influx of homework or when Tsukki gets approached by girls. He likes hearing Hinata and Kageyama bicker and Yachi’s questions about how his day went. He likes playing with the B-team and the exhaustion that seeps through his muscles after a good day’s practice.

But if he goes to practice, he has to face the gossip that’s surely spread. He doesn’t think he can handle having to tell Yachi after she was so sweet and helped him so much that he wasted her time with chocolate making, that the chocolates didn’t even reach Tsukishima’s hands for a second. He thinks that she’d understand, and so would Hinata and Kageyama, but… he doesn’t want to explain it to them.

He closes his eyes again and thinks hard.

“Oi, Yamaguchi. I know you’re awake in there.”

Tadashi turns his head and opens his eyes, watching as Tsukki ducks through the hanging curtains that blocks off the beds from the rest of the nurse’s office. He’s not sure how he feels about this. On the one hand, Tsukki’s come to fetch him and it makes his heart leap because it’s _Tsukki_ and he’s _here._

On the other, it’s Tsukki. And he’s here.

He studies his friend’s face, the planes and arcs of it, the way Tsukki’s brows are furrowed and his lips are pinched, glasses low on his nose and hair ruffled on one side like he’s been sitting with his hand in it all day. Tadashi’s spent years learning every expression, every minute detail of that face and arch and bow of the blond’s body language until each movement is like Tsukki’s shouting his intentions at him; he’s spent months longing to touch and hold and kiss every inch of that body he can read so well. He knows what all of it means, and he knows that Tsukki is not pleased with him by the purse of his lips and the draw of his brows and the hardness of those eyes, his image incased in them like he’s an insect in amber.

He blinks slowly, pulling his lip between his teeth. He sits up and stares at the sheets; he’s not sure what to say. Tsukki hasn’t really given him anything to talk about and he’s forgotten how he normally acts. He doesn’t know what’s okay to bring up.

“I know you’re not sick,” Tsukki says. His arms are crossed and his tone is accusatory, the way it gets when he’s really mad about something; Tadashi flinches a bit and peeks up at him through his lashes. “You never go to the nurse, not even when you’re sick.”

“I was just tired,” Tadashi answers quietly. “I didn’t sleep well last night.”

He can tell by Tsukki’s face that his friend isn’t buying it. Tsukki’s lips twist and his nose wrinkles slightly and there’s a feral gleam to his eyes that Tadashi associates with an approaching verbal assault—he’s only had that look turned on him a few times: once, when his friend was wild with grief and disappointment after Akiteru’s game in elementary school, then again when they’d started shouting at each other during the summer camp.

He’s not ready for what’s going to come.

“You’ve been acting weird since yesterday,” Tsukki says, face screwed up in that insufferable sneer of his that Tadashi hates and loves so much. “What’s your _problem_?”

Tadashi sighs and picks at the sheets a bit. “Say, Tsukki,” he says slowly. “Is it true? Did you accept that girl’s confession?”

Tsukki’s  face falls blank for a second. The smug smirk that spreads across his face as he processes Tadashi’s question makes him want to throw up. He doesn’t want to hear it. He doesn’t want to hear Tsukki realize it and mock him for it. He doesn’t want his feelings to be the butt of some joke for his friend.

“Is that it?” Tsukki laughs, “You yell at me to take those girls seriously, then you get bent out of shape that I _listened to you_?”

“I—I didn’t think you would _accept_ a confession,” Tadashi stammers over his friend. He stands up, hands shaking as he gestures at the air between them. “I just wanted you to take them seriously, instead of throwing their feelings away—!”

“And I did just that,” Tsukki answers with a snicker. “I listened to her and accepted her proposal to meet up to get to know each other. Is that why you’re upset with me? That I’m going to go spend time with someone that’s not you? That all those girls took my time away from you?”

“Tsukki, don’t—” He’s not sure what’s possessing Tsukki, but he wants it to stop. He wants his friend back, the one who never turns that sharp tongue on him. He doesn’t want to think of Tsukki as an ice prince. He knows his friend has a heart.

Tsukki might not love people the way everyone else does, but he has a heart. He has compassion and he has kindness. He wants to continue thinking that way.

“Did you want someone to confess to you too? You don’t have to deny it, you know,” Tsukki continues over him, leaning back on his heels as he sneers; “Poor Yamaguchi, you’re lonely, is that it?”

 He loves this boy, he loves him with all of his heart and being but he can’t do this. He shouldn’t have even thought about confessing; this is worse than a rejection, and he’s not sure what he’s done to instigate Kei’s ire like this, but he can’t do this. “Please, _stop_ ,” he begs.

His friend’s eyes flare with anger, and Tadashi regrets everything he’s done these past two days. If he’d kept his place, this wouldn’t be happening. “Are you so desperate to be with me that you’re that jealous of those mindless girls? Are you feeling left out because of it? How pathetic—”

He has his hand raised and moving before he even knows what he’s done. His hand stings like it does after he hits a spike at practice, and Kei’s glasses are clattering to the floor. “I never wanted to think you were _that_ cold,” he whispers through the tightness of his throat. The image of Kei gripping the side of his face in shock, shoulders hunched, wavers in his eyes and he tries to stop it, blink the rippling image aside before it’s too late, but tears start to roll down his face like they’re acid, burning down his cheeks.

He does the only thing he can do to protect the last few tattered shreds of his pride. He grabs his bag and runs.

* * *

Kei stands there, shell-shocked and ear ringing for a long time before he slowly kneels down and picks up his glasses. He rubs his uniform over the lenses and wiggles the frame a bit to see if they’d broken. Luckily, they’re still in one piece.

Unlike his relationship with Yamaguchi.

He doesn’t understand it. He doesn’t get why Yamaguchi’s so upset with him about this confession thing; he thinks the boy’s being overly sensitive and irrational. He recognizes that he went too far goading him. He’d hoped that by provoking Yamaguchi’s temper again, he could parse out why it bothered Yamaguchi so much that he didn’t take those girls seriously, and why it bothered his friend why he’d accepted that girl’s invitation for lunch.

He’d seriously stepped over a line; the sting on his cheek and the ache in his head that’s already sunk into his gums and made even his eyes hurt is proof of that. He didn’t even know Yamaguchi was capable of hitting anything other than a volleyball.

‘I never wanted to think you were that cold’, he’d said. Not rude or cruel, but cold. Sometimes even Kei thinks he’s cold; his heart is a block of unfeeling ice because he can’t love people like that. He doesn’t often strive for interpersonal relationships, and even when he does, he doesn’t want much; he’s always thought he had what he needed, first in his brother and second in Yamaguchi.

But he’s running hot with irritation and anger and it’s buzzing through him, making him do stupid things like kicking Yamaguchi where he knows it hurts the slighter boy and letting that girl put her number in his phone and agreeing to meet her at a café in town after volleyball practice on Saturday.

It bothers him endlessly, everyone’s expectations of him. It’s not enough to slide by in class and work at practice—there are people that want more from him than that. All those girls, they want him in ways he doesn’t feel like he’ll ever be able to offer himself up, not that he even wants to offer himself to any of them; they feel hungry and feral to him, like if he tries, they’ll strip him until there’s nothing left for himself. Yamaguchi, too, wants him to do things he can’t do; he can’t do something if he doesn’t understand it, or why he should do it. He doesn’t want to open himself up to their hungry gazes and greedy desires. He doesn’t understand why Yamaguchi would want that, would want to share him.

He hitches his bag up higher on his shoulder and heads off to practice.

Predictably, there’s a commotion going on when he finally enters the clubroom. Hinata is muttering in low panicked tones, tugging on Sugawara’s uniform. “I promise you, I’m not mistaken this time, the spare storage room _is_ haunted, I heard crying but I couldn’t see anyone and when I asked if there was anyone there, it stopped,” he chatters on.

Sugawara pats Hinata on the head, “Hinata, I don’t necessarily think that means the storeroom is haunted,” he says.

“Yeah, you dumbass,” Kageyama gripes from somewhere inside his tee-shirt as he yanks it on over his head. “It’s probably some kid who got rejected you know? Leave ‘em be.”

Kei rolls his eyes and uses the distraction Hinata’s causing with Kageyama to slip into the room to change; he hopes his face isn’t that noticeable. It’s not.

“Oi, Tsukishima, who finally got one in on you?” Tanaka calls, pointing to his own cheek to clarify. “I heard you got a girlfriend, did you already piss her off? Maybe you need some lessons from a senpai on how to treat girls!”

Of course he starts laughing at his own joke and Kei sighs, dropping his bag. “Don’t you think that would just get me hit even more?” he retorts lazily.

“You got a girlfriend?” Hinata asks, sounding relatively confused. He breaks away from Kageyama and scowls belligerently.

“Haven’t you heard, Hinata?” Noya asks, “The gossip’s even reached up to us senpais. All the girls are fussing about it, how their ice prince finally accepted a girl’s confession.”

“No, I hadn’t,” Hinata says slowly. His scowl deepens and he studies Tsukishima the way he studies opponents during games. Kei’s not particularly intimidated, though he is a little curious why he’s on the receiving end of Hinata’s nearly perfected death glare.

Kageyama’s staring at him too, lips pursed.

“So then, who hit you?” Sugawara asks tentatively.

“Yamaguchi did,” Kei says, feeling his face color. “He’s been pissy since yesterday. I don’t know what his problem is.”

“…I would have a problem,” Hinata says quietly, “If my new boyfriend accepted another person’s confession.”

The entire room falls silent. Even Tanaka and Noya, who were busy laughing at each other’s jokes about Kei’s non-existent love life, shut up at Hinata’s words. Everyone looks at him with expressions of shock mixed with anger, disgust, and a bit of pity. He opens his mouth, then closes it. He tips his head to the side, then shakes his head. “…Yamaguchi isn’t my boyfriend,” he corrects after a moment. “I don’t… we aren’t… He doesn’t like me like that?”

Hinata blinks quickly, then frowns like he does when he hits a particularly challenging (to him) question on his homework. “He didn’t confess yesterday? He said that he was going to and since he didn’t tell us you rejected him, we thought…”

“He didn’t do anything like that—why would he? We’re just friends,” Kei says, scowling. “All he did yesterday was chew me out about taking people’s confessions seriously.” He pauses and meets Hinata’s gaze.

There’s a look of dawning realization on his face, eyes going wide and color draining from his cheeks.

The realization hits Kei at about the same time, and it’s just like Yamaguchi’s hit him again. He sits down on the dinky bench.

“I’m going to go check on the storeroom,” Hinata shouts, tearing out of the room. No one tries to stop him; no one even tears their eyes from Kei.

He can feel their gazes like knives on him. He’s never once thought about it, that maybe Yamaguchi’s devotion to him was a bit deeper than ordinary friendship. He just thought that was how they were, that they were just that comfortable with each other. Yamaguchi has never once looked at him like he thought Kei was something to possess; he’s always been a soft voice and playful elbow nudges and warm fingers that brushed against the inside of Kei’s wrist when he wanted to get his attention. But the world’s been shifting under his feet these past few months, like the time that’s restarted for him is roiling in its effort to catch up with those around him. He wonders when the world had shifted for Yamaguchi, when he’d started to want something more than friendship.

He wonders why he’d never seen it. He looks up at his teammates. He’s used to them not looking pleased with him, weary indignation and irritation doesn’t bother him when he sees it on their faces. Anger doesn’t even bother him—he riles them up on purpose because it’s fun. But every single last one of them are looking at him like he’s done something awful and he knows they came to the same conclusion that he and Hinata had. “Look, I didn’t _know_ ,” he snaps. “Are you all going to say you knew?”

“We did,” Kageyama says awkwardly. “That is, Hinata, Yachi, and I did. He told us.” He leans down and grabs his jacket. He pulls it on silently, then grabs Hinata’s. “Yamaguchi wouldn’t have hit you with no reason, even if he was upset about the girl.” His fingers clench around the fabric of his friend’s jacket; Kei cannot believe he’s getting a lecture from this petty, volleyball-obsessed idiot king, of all people. “So.”

“So?” Kei spits out.

“So whatever you did to make him do that must have hurt him badly,” Kageyama finishes after a long moment, his face screwed up like the words were being yanked from him. He strides towards the door, “I’m going to go warm up.” He slams it behind him on his way out.

Kei grits his teeth together. He already knew that. He turns his gaze to the rest of the team. “What are the rest of you going to tell me I’m shitty too?”

“Easy there, Tsukishima,” Daichi says. “We’re not going to say anything. It’s obvious this is something you need to work out on your own with Yamaguchi.” He scratches his head and looks at Sugawara, who’s frowning and chewing on the inside of his lip. They trade glances and Daichi sighs. “Why don’t you… take the day off of practice. Go home, ice your face. I don’t think you can practice like this.”

Kei snarls and snatches his bag off of the floor. He stands, “Fine. Whatever.” He leaves, leaving his teammates murmuring in his wake. He’s used to murmuring, he’s used to making enemies and people thinking he’s heartless. Sometimes, he thinks he is. He must be, he thinks, to have never once noticed that Yamaguchi, his only friend, felt anything except friendship for him.

He’s not sure how that makes him feel. The realization sits in his mind like a stone, weighing him down with a prickly feeling of guilt and discomfort. He doesn’t care that Yamaguchi’s another male—that’s not what bothers him here.

He walks past the gym, trying to figure out just what it is that doesn’t sit right. He stops in front of the spare storage room that’s really more of a shed. The door is cracked. He hears the murmur of voices and something that sounds like a wet cough.

If he’s heartless, what is it that hurts so much? He takes a tentative step towards the storage room door, then another, until he can see Hinata and Yamaguchi in the dim light. Hinata’s sitting in front of Yamaguchi, a hand on the brunet’s shoulder as Yamaguchi cries into his knees, head tucked against his legs. Hinata’s speaking but Kei can’t hear it.

He stands and watches and wonders why he’s broken. Why it’s come to this. What exactly it is that’s wrong with him that makes him feel like he’s some other when it comes to romantic feelings and relationships. He doesn’t care, not really, if he’s hurt all those girls who’ve confessed to him before but he cares that he’s hurt Yamaguchi.

That he took Yamaguchi for granted, and thought that the boy could just bounce back from what he’d said to him. He thinks of all the clues he’s missed over the past few months. Yamaguchi’s been flirting, making passes at him for months now—the graduation from tapping Kei’s shoulder to brushing his fingers on the inside of his wrists,  the way they share food at lunch, how he’s asked Kei to walk him to extra practice so they can talk longer. He’s been leading Yamaguchi on without realizing it, taking the comfort he finds in his company as something that friends feel. He steps into the storage room.

Kei clears his throat and Hinata and Yamaguchi both look up at him. He tries not to flinch at the glare that Hinata sends his way or at the mess that is Yamaguchi’s face. He clenches his fingers around each other, wringing them in front of his body; “I need to talk to Yamaguchi,” he says.

“I’m walking him home,” Hinata says loudly, his hand on Yamaguchi’s shoulder.  Kei wonders just when they got so close. He wonders if he’s just blind, or if he’s actually that untrustworthy. Neither idea sits well with him.

“I need to talk to him,” Kei repeats.

He quickly finds himself at the receiving end of another one of Hinata’s death-glares. Kei thinks idly that Kageyama must really be rubbing off on Hinata, because it’s not his normal glare; it strongly resembles one of the king’s more murderous looks— doesn’t look at home on Hinata’s face.  Just like red, swollen eyes and bitten-down lips don’t suit Yamaguchi’s face. He can’t muster up the determination to return the glare, either. He just waits until Yamaguchi finally reaches out to tentatively tap Hinata’s knee.

“It’s okay,” his friend whispers. “Hinata, you don’t have to miss practice because of me. Aren’t you and Kageyama trying to perfect a new attack? Go on, it’s okay.”

Hinata deflates and turns his eyes to Yamaguchi. He murmurs something that Kei can’t hear, but Yamaguchi shakes his head at it. Hinata slowly stands and purses his lips at Kei. He doesn’t say anything as he leaves the storage room, which is surprising—Kei always thought of Hinata as someone who had words to spare.

He waits until the door is closed save for a crack, the thin strip of light falling between where Kei stands and Yamaguchi is hunched on the floor, like it’s a line that neither of them can cross. “…Hey, did you… were you… were you really going to confess to me?”

Yamaguchi lays his chin against his knees, not quite looking at Kei. “Does it matter?”

Kei steps over the line of light between them, kneeling in front of his friend. It matters, it matters a lot. He can’t express how much it matters to him, how much it matters that he’s managed to hurt Tadashi this much. It hurts and it matters. “It obviously matters to you,” he says instead. It’s a bit harsher than what he intends and he wants to kick himself because Tadashi hides his face into his knees and his shoulders shudder visibly with quiet sobs.

He doesn’t understand. He doesn’t understand why Yamaguchi’s ripping himself apart for this, why it’s come to this. “It matters,” he says softly. He struggles for words for a minute; “If it’s important to you, then it matters. You… you didn’t give up when it was obvious I thought that trying to become a better player was worthless. You shouldn’t give up now because you think it’s worthless.”

They sit in silence for what seems like an eternity, but Kei knows is only a few minutes before he settles himself all the way on the ground. He doesn’t know what to do. He’s never comforted anyone before, not in this sort of situation. This is different than saying a few encouraging words here and there.  “I didn’t mean what I said,” he says slowly. “I don’t think you’re… you know.”

“I know,” Yamaguchi says flatly. His shoulders are still shaking. Kei doesn’t know what to do.

“…if you’re crying because… you think I like that girl,” he mumbles, “I don’t.”

This gets Yamaguchi’s attention. He looks up, face wet and messy and frowns at Kei. “What do you mean?”

“I don’t like her. I don’t have any intentions of dating her,” Kei says. “So… if that’s why you’ve been… if that’s why you’re upset, it’s okay. I don’t have any intentions of seeing her… like that.”

Yamaguchi’s frown deepens into an outright scowl. “Then why agree to a date?”

“I told her I didn’t know her, and she asked if she could confess again after going out to lunch for us to talk,” Kei said with a shrug. “I don’t like her or anything.”

“Why did you agree if you don’t like her?”

“You told me to listen to her—or, well, all of them. But she’s the first one I listened to,” Kei said, rolling his eyes at the memory of the veritable parade of girls. None of them ever learned. He sighed. “But you were avoiding me and I was angry, so I thought, why not?”

“Do you—did you even think?” Yamaguchi shoots back, voice shaking. “God, you are the most insensitive ass—did you even think about how that’s going to make her feel?”

“What?”

Yamaguchi’s voice rises until he’s nearly yelling, a fresh wave of tears flooding down his face; “Do you even understand how much that’s going to hurt her? She likes you, Tsukki, it’s not a game. It’s not something you do to get back at me because I’ve pissed you off—you made her think she had a chance but you have no intentions of ever—god, do you know how much that hurts? Don’t you understand?”

Kei freezes, and he thinks back to the girl who stammered shyly at him, face pink as she peeked out under her bangs at him. He thinks about how she’d brightened up when he’d dismissively agreed to her terms, and he looks at Yamaguchi, who’s angry for a girl he’s never met even though he’s a sobbing wreck. The only thing the two of them have in common is him, and their feelings for him. He doesn’t understand the pull he has on them, or why their feelings hurt them so much. “I don’t,” he answers.

Yamaguchi sags. He shakes his head and pushes his palms to his eyes in defeat. There’s a quiet hiccup and a shudder of shoulders and Kei can’t stand it.

“…Tadashi, were you going to confess to me?” Kei presses.

“Yes,” Yamaguchi says, finally. He doesn’t look up or move his hands. Kei’s heart twists. “I… I just wanted you to know. I thought that would be enough.”

“…and is it?”

“I don’t know,” Yamaguchi laments. “I don’t really know, Tsukki.”

Kei sits in silence before he reaches out and slides his fingers softly though Yamaguchi’s hair. He doesn’t hate Yamaguchi, not at all.

He doesn’t think anything will change if Yamaguchi confesses to him. He wants it to. He wants it to change, he wishes he could change; he doesn’t want to hurt his friend. He slides his hand down Yamaguchi’s jawline, thumb wiping away tears before he tips his friend’s face up. “…why don’t you try it?” he whispers.

Yamaguchi nods and shivers. This is how people act when they’re in love, something whispers to him in his head; this is how you caress a lover’s cheek. It’s not bad; Yamaguchi’s cheek is soft and warm and damp under his fingertips. He could trace every curve of Yamaguchi’s features, appreciate their softness and warmth and how they come together in every inch of tan freckled skin to form the face of his best friend. It’s not bad at all, but he doesn’t feel what Yamaguchi obviously is: His skin is flushing under each place Kei’s fingers brush over and his eyes are fluttering, tears spilling down as he closes his eyes and sighs in something that Kei thinks is similar to ecstasy, lips parted.

He thinks this is where people who like each other would kiss. He tips his head to the side and blinks. Yamaguchi opens his eyes. The moment is gone.

Kei drops his hand and waits as the boy steels his nerves. He hears the familiar in, wait, out pattern of Yamaguchi’s breathing that he associates with volleyball games and serving. He uncurls himself from his ball and brings out the box from his bag. It’s crumpled and messy-looking, but Yamaguchi holds it with shaking hands. “…Tsukki, I,” he starts, then stops. He blinks quickly and gulps. “Kei, I really like you. I think I love you, actually, for a long time. W… will you accept this?”

Kei looks at the box in Yamaguchi’s trembling hands and then looks at the boy’s face. Nothing changes. He wants it to more than he’s ever wanted anything.

It makes his chest ache like his heart has been torn from it; this isn’t the cold, instant blow of heartbreak he was dealt in elementary school. This one is ragged and hot and messy—he’s going to feel every second of it because he can’t detach himself from this. Yamaguchi means too much to him for him to detach himself from it.

He thinks, for a brief second, that maybe he can learn. That he can lie and tell his friend ‘me too, you know’ and fake it until he learns. Because he thinks he could learn to love Tadashi; he can see, easily, how anyone could love this boy. He’s kind, he’s earnest and shy and selfless; he would worship the person who loves him… but in return, he deserves someone who would do the same.

Kei is not capable of the type of love Tadashi wants. He’s grown up with Tadashi, watched him and protected him and seen him grow into a person who can stand on his own. He has not learned to love Tadashi the way Tadashi has learned to love him.

He doesn’t think he can. He knows he won’t. He can’t do that to Tadashi.

He takes the box gingerly, like it’s something more fragile than glass. “I accept,” he murmurs, “But… I can’t return your feelings, Tadashi.” He sets the chocolates aside and draws Tadashi against him. “Maybe if I was different, I could. But I can’t change it.”

Tadashi nods against his chest. He’s silent, but Kei can feel him shaking, and his tears soak through his tee-shirt. He holds onto his friend tighter. “I don’t think I’ll ever love anyone like that,” he says, hand running softly through Tadashi’s hair. He wants to give his friend as much as he can, as much as he’s able; the least is an explanation and some form of comfort. “It has nothing to do with you—you’re not the one who’s wrong here.”

“The way you are isn’t wrong, Tsukki,” Tadashi hiccups. “I _knew_ that’s how it was but I still—I still wanted, I still hoped that…”

“I know.” He hates the way that Tadashi sounds guilty just for hoping; he knows it’s his fault for being so cavalier about how he views people who like him romantically, how he’s spoken of those girls who held onto the hope that he can change his mind, the way his emotions work, how he views the bonds between people.

He loves Tadashi, he _does_. But the way he loves is different. He wants to continue growing up with Tadashi, but not the way that Tadashi does. He wants it in afternoons spent laughing at people and practicing volleyball and doing homework; Tadashi wants it in evenings spent holding hands and kissing and being together in ways that are so subtly different from what Kei wants that Kei can’t even distinguish why their wants are different. But they are.  

“I… I’m sorry, you know,” he says quietly. He wants to tell Tadashi just how much he does love him. But he can’t put it into words how his love is different from Tadashi’s. He wants to let him know how important he is, how much he grounds him, how calming it is to have someone who believes in him and thinks he’s someone worth something, and not some cold, calculating asshole. To tell him how warm and comforting it is when Tadashi brushes up against his side and taps his shoulder and shares his lunch. How soothing it is to hold onto him like this; it makes his heart slow down and his thoughts calm themselves and it’s something he thinks he would like, to just put his head against Tadashi’s shoulder and breathe when the world is too much for him.

It’s selfish because he knows it’ll give Tadashi the wrong idea, make him think there’s a chance that it’ll bloom into the sort of love Tadashi has.

And that’s not fair. He holds on tightly to Tadashi, soaking up his friend’s warmth for the last time. Tadashi seems to sense that it’s the first and last time he’ll get to hold onto him, because he wraps his arms tightly around Kei, damp face nuzzling up into his neck. “I love you,” Tadashi whispers. “I love you so much it hurts. It’s not fair, Kei, it’s not fair. Why did I do this to us?”

“I know it’s not fair,” Kei mumbles, “I’m sorry.” He can’t stand tearing his friend apart like this. It nearly breaks his resolve and composure; he wants to placate Tadashi, wash away the hurt, follow the pre-written script for romance he sees in the couples at school and the characters in movies and try his best to make Tadashi as happy as he can, even though he knows it would kill his friend. His best and only friend who deserves more, who deserves a clean break from this, who Kei has to let go so he can get over it, get over the pain of this first love so he can grow up and find someone who can return the sort of love Tadashi can give and will give in abundance.

He draws back and smoothes Tadashi’s bangs away from his face. He presses a soft kiss to the boy’s forehead, like Akiteru used to do to him when he was very small and hurt, a gesture that filled him with affection and serenity when he was little. “It’s not your fault. It’s… it’s just how it is.” He draws away, pulling himself away from Tadashi’s clinging fingers.

He pulls his uniform sleeve over his hand and mops up Tadashi’s face before taking the box of chocolates and tucking them into his bag. He stands. “I’ll walk you home,” he says softly. “And I promise, I’ll explain to the girl the best I can. I’ll do that for you.”

Tadashi shakes his head. “Sorry, Tsukki,” he says with a wavering smile. “I think I want to go to practice. I feel like running around, you know?”

Kei tips his head and smiles even though his throat is tight. “I really dislike hot blooded people like that,” he replies. “Do what you like.”

“Sorry, Tsukki,” Tadashi repeats. Kei snorts and turns to leave the storage room.

“Text me when you get home,” he says as he leaves, hand up in a parting wave.

It’s as close as he gets to an ‘I love you’.


End file.
